


Let Loose

by myaso



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Comfort/Angst, Fantasizing, Farting, Gross, Masturbation, Messy, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Post-Canon, Scat, This turned into a series, Watersports, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, binge eating, slob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaso/pseuds/myaso
Summary: When the 'errands' that Rodimus occupies himself with begin to slow down, he can't help but to let himself go.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you continue: This is gross. This is really, really gross. (Maybe leave a kudos if you decide to leave now?)

Rodimus was, at best, an errand boy for Thunderclash; at worst, he was being kept busy by Thunderclash in the only way that the captain could trust him not to fuck up, and even then, Rodimus frequently struggled.

‘Errand’. Before you could even take in the rest of the sentence, that alone made it sound pathetic.

He held no official title on the Exitus. Second, Third, even a ceremonial Fourth in Command position were all spoken for, and try as he might, Rodimus couldn’t manage to speak over them. Thunderclash was nothing if not sympathetic, at least, and had for some time convinced Rodimus that he was something _more important_ than just a crew member, and thus, he didn’t **_need_ ** a title. What a crock of shit.

The drinking had started before the Exitus- it had started as far back as Scorponok, really. The _first_ run-in with Scorponok. God, that made him feel old. He was aging faster than either his body or his mind could cope with, and soon a problem that had always managed to simmer on the back burner was now bubbling over uncontrollably. Spilling out, making a mess. Fucking it all up.

Rodimus tossed a wrapper to the ground, belching.

Maybe it hadn’t been the best decision to cope with age-related joint ache by tripling his weight. More than tripling, probably, but Thunderclash had stopped insisting that Rodimus report to the med bay for weigh-ins and diet advice when it was clear that it wasn’t working, and so Rodimus had no idea as to how much he actually weighed, these days. In his chair, Rodimus’s sweat-drenched stomach (though all of his body was equally soaked) expanded out into all directions, blanketing his thighs in heavy warmth and nearly trapping him into the chair’s sides.

Thick fingers tapped at the screen of a scratched and sticky datapad.

**[REPLIED] << 113.900.87 thanks can u bring the pizza here?**

**[READ] >> 445.362.18 Hey! Can you come by tonight to help org...**

**[READ] >> 778.057.44 Hi Rodimus! :) I hope to see you again soo...**

**[UNREAD] >> 0000 AUTOMATED MESSAGE: HEALTH REMIN…**

Rodimus belched again. His inbox continued upwards, becoming a sea of delivery correspondence as the errand requests dropped off. Every now and then, he would get the occasional request to meet up, but it was almost always organized by Thunderclash. Primus help him, Thunderclash did try to help, even if Rodimus wasn't willing to accept it until he absolutely had to (and then, only under his terms). Another candy bar found its way into Rodimus’s mouth, as he set the tablet down and began to double fist the things.

“Query- play TV app.”

His datapad beeped a telltale ‘failure’ note at him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that. Please repeat your message.”

With his speech slurred by fat jowels and alcohol, his mouth also nearly always stuffed full of food, Rodimus was used to the damn thing not understanding him. Rodimus took another bite, holding it in his mouth before trying again.

“ _Mmph_ \- Query, play TV app.”

The datapad beeped a positive note, this time, and the tablet’s screen switched to where Rodimus had left off. He didn’t even remember what he was watching, but he rarely did. It was all mind-numbing crap from old Cybertron, millions of years old reality TV shows to help Rodimus relax as he relived the glory days.

Rodimus’s chair creaked magnificently, struggling to accommodate his massive girth as he leaned back. Rodimus continued to double-fist the candy bars, licking smeared chocolate off of his hands whenever he finished one. The wrappers joined the others in a miserable pile of garbage surrounding his desk- beer cans and spent candy, mostly. At a better time in his life, he would exaggeratedly exclaim that he _LOVED_ candy, and Drift would even giggle at how cute he was when he’d buy an entire grocery bag full of the stuff on shore leave.

In his chest, his spark began to speed up. It did that randomly, sometimes, or it would randomly slow- this, however, was a very systematic response. Rodimus groaned. He didn’t have enough shame left to repress these feelings anymore, and so his disturbed groaning came only from the sharp pains that arousal now brought with it for him.

The chair creaked again, as Rodimus shifted. He felt his spark speed up even more, and heat was beginning to flood into his face and his thighs. It always made him feel just a bit light-headed, worsening as his spike became more erect; he did remember one of the medics mentioning that he needed to be wary of his energon circulation, but it wasn’t like he was going to die from all of his blood rushing to his dick. Well, not anytime soon.

Rodimus groaned again, hands going to his stomach. He shelved any thoughts of death entirely, and of the growing tightness in his chest as his arousal reached its peak. He could feel his spike straining against the underside of his stomach.

“Q- Query, open picture app, folder name Drift.”

He panted as he spoke, leaning forwards in his chair even more. His hands pressed deeper into his stomach, now beginning to gurgle from the aftermath of his meal. The candy bars had only been something of a dessert to finish off his takeout feast, and he was beginning to feel the effects- and _rapidly_. His eyes crossed slightly as his tablet chimed, then opened up the folder. They were old, old pictures- Rodimus couldn’t stand anything more recent, as it only reminded him of what he couldn’t have.

“Query, slideshow.”

The tablet chimed again, and Rodimus grunted. If he angled himself just right, and managed to reach at just the right time, he could just barely get his hands in a position to sort of jack himself off. One of his hands would have to futilely attempt to hold back his bloated stomach, slipping a bit as it gripped the sweaty protoform, as his other hand grabbed onto the little bit of his spike that managed to poke out from his burgeoning fat pad.

He had done it, and just on time. Rodimus’s stomach gurgled, and he let loose a rip of gas, entirely unashamed. The smell of him was overwhelming for nearly everyone except for him (though he would even disgust himself, sometimes), as his lifestyle of infrequent bathing and garbage eating habits made him a sweaty, gassy mess. This time, though, Rodimus could feel in his shifting stomach that there was something more going on.

“Ngh…”

Rodimus briefly lost his grip of his spike as he leaned back in his chair. His stomach gurgled more, and he was beginning to have to clench his asshole with purpose to avoid his gas becoming, well...something more. It was getting overwhelming, but Rodimus kept pumping his cock as much as his fat wrist and hand would allow him- which, all things considered, wasn’t much.

A brief video clip came on his tablet’s screen, and Rodimus moaned. His stomach was squeaking and growling, and his spike was beginning to ache, too, but not in the way that he wanted. In the clip, Drift flashed a peace sign at the camera, smiling, before he pulled back to spin around a bit.

“Query- loop video! _Now_!”

Frantically, Rodimus pumped his spike, but he couldn’t delay the inevitable. His spark twitched and his hips quaked as piss drenched his hand, gushing all over his chair, the floor, and (though he couldn’t see them to check for sure) his feet. His hand was too slick to continue pumping, and so he leaned back with tears in his eyes, huffing and moaning as he tried to grind against his fat pad.

In his mind, in the elaborate story tale that he had created for himself to cope with his constant reality of ‘worst’s, Drift wanted this. Drift wanted to see Rodimus gorge himself until he nearly puked. Drift wanted to see him struggle, panting and sweating and pink in the face from exertion, to orgasm solely from the friction of Rodimus’s cellulite-pocked, piss-drenched fat pad against his spike. If Rodimus hadn’t of been able to imagine that he was ruining himself for Drift, he would have lost his mind a long time ago- but instead, the only thing that Rodimus was losing right now was his control over his bowels.

He nearly blacked out from the intensity of shitting and cumming at once, and it was with a gaping, panting mouth and a painfully tight chest that he finally came back to himself. His spike continued to twitch a bit, and it felt tender and sore as he forced his body to push out the rest of the shit. It was easy enough to pass, and he was only struggling to pass the _sheer volume_ of it; often, Rodimus would neglect getting up to go to the bathroom for so long that he would either just go where he was sitting or laying, or he would become bound up, sometimes to the point of needing assistance.

Only when the post-orgasm haze had faded did Rodimus attempt to sit back up, and it was with a menacing **_crack_ ** from his chair's base that he was flung nearly completely forwards. His spark raced anew, as he struggled to free himself from the sides to no avail, wanting to release himself before the damn thing actually broke.

More wiggling in his chair made Rodimus break out into a fresh sweat- though, like how his spark had never ceased racing, he had never really _stopped_ sweating- and he resigned himself to his position with another belch. The video of Drift still looped, silently watching.

“Query- call Thunderclash.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that. Please repeat your message.”


	2. Chapter 2

The wait was agonizing. At some point, the haze of Rodimus’s little tryst fully faded, and he was left aware of just how awful of a situation he was in: sitting in his own shit, piss, and cum, waiting for Thunderclash to come help him deal with...all of that. He passed the time by putting more reality TV onto his datapad, and even taking out a box of cookies from the desk and beginning to snack again.

A long time ago, Rodimus would have been too disgusted to even consider eating in a situation like this. He had at least wiped the piss of off his hands and onto his stomach, but even that alone would have been too much for his former self. The Rodimus Prime that saw his own dead body in a coffin would have been more appalled by what he was seeing, now, but the Rodimus Prime that sat in his own filth watching ‘So What, I Gave You Malware?’ and munching on cookies couldn’t be assed to care.

Buzzing to life, the intercom in Rodimus’s room announced Thunderclash’s arrival before the captain had even spoke.

“Rodimus, I’m just outside. Is it alright to come in?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t look up from the screen as he heard Thunderclash unlock the door and step in, nor as he heard Thunderclash recoil in revulsion. Again, Primus help him, he just wanted to help- but even The Man Who Could Do Everything knew when he was in over his head.

“What…” Thunderclash trailed off, and Rodimus heard him approach. His back was turned to the door, so while he couldn’t see much of anything, he knew that Thunderclash was getting a full view of Rodimus’s shame (or, rather, his lack thereof). “Did you have an accident?”

Rodimus shoved two cookies into his mouth at once, and turned up the volume on his datapad with one crumb-covered digit.

“Wasn’t an accident, but yeah. Need you to help me up.”

The sound of Thunderclash wading through garbage was loud enough to cut through Rodimus’s TV program, interrupting a scene of two bots brawling on a balcony. Rodimus rolled his eyes at the inconvenience. Whenever the heat of the moment faded like it had now, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the past, oblivious; however, as Thunderclash put one hand on his shoulder, Rodimus knew that the captain was determined not to allow that any longer.

“Please, look at me.”

Of course, he didn’t. It wasn’t only that he didn’t want to, no- some of it came down to the difficulty that he had in turning his neck, as it was encased at either side in blubber. He shoved another cookie into his mouth, and then licked his fingers with a bit more noise than was likely necessary. Rodimus heard Thunderclash sigh, and his hand squeezed his shoulder a bit tighter.

“That’s alright, then. I’ll need your cooperation to help you up, Rodimus, but as I’ve been inspecting your chair, I’m not sure if it’ll be salvageable. I brought cutters just in case, though-”

“ _ Just help me up _ .”

Rodimus nearly spat the words at him. He threw the now-empty box of cookies to the ground, and he heard it bounce off of one of Thunderclash’s feet. A shuffling noise followed, and Thunderclash’s hand left his shoulder, reappearing with its counterpart at either side of Rodimus’s stomach. He had overflowed through the sides of the chair, and a considerable distance forwards, as well; his paunch restrained him to the chair just as much as his stuck sides did. Thunderclash’s hands were gentle, yet firm, as they began to push at his sides.

“I need you to lean forwards, Rodimus.”

He did as he was told, although he spat back, “Stop saying my damn name!”

The noises of the debacle were a sight to behold in themselves. With every shimmy, every lean, the chair creaked and groaned and begged for mercy; with every wobble of Rodimus’s belly, his thighs rubbed together thunderously, an audible shuffling sound that echoed much louder in the room than it had any right to. Rodimus panted, heaved, gasped for air as Thunderclash began to force him out, and finally, with an impossibly loud  **_CRACK!_ ** , Rodimus became separated from his seat.

It would have been the end of the fiasco, had it not meant that Rodimus was now leaning against the desk with his sides still trapped, the chair having separated with him.

“ _ Got to be fragging kidding me _ ,” Rodimus mumbled under his breath. It was all that he could do to mumble, as the strain of standing began to make his legs shake, and he continued to pant from exertion. He whined.

“You’re doing good.”

Rodimus wished that he was in a position to hawk something back, but just as he had been barely able to mumble, he was out of fire to spit. His thighs trembled. He was old, but they all were, these days- he knew that he couldn’t blame the searing pain in his joints just on being a relic of a bygone era. Thunderclash was an old man in his own right, and yet here the captain was, cutting away parts of a chair from Rodimus’s ass while the latter mech gripped onto his desk for dear life. His stomach had flopped over a bit onto the panel of the desk, adding more crumbs and general detritus to its already filthy surface; Rodimus reached down to pick a shred of candy bar wrapper off of his bloated belly, but the movement made him nearly lose his balance, and he had to grip on even harder just to stay standing.

“I’ve almost finished, just one more piece. I appreciate your cooperation.”

He ballooned out at the sides almost cartoonishly as it was removed, and a distinct trickle of urine made its way to the floor. Thunderclash seemed reluctant to move his hands anywhere further on Rodimus’s body  _ except _ for his sides, but Rodimus couldn’t blame him- if the sensation coating most of his lower body was to be believed, he’d made an absolute mess of himself.

Finding his breath, finally, Rodimus spoke again,

“I’m not-  _ hff _ \- I don’t-” He wasn’t sure what he was saying, or why he was expending the energy to bother saying it. His hips wobbled as they shook from exertion. “Gonna fragging fall soon-!”

“You’re not going to fall, I’ve got you. Spread your legs a bit, Rod-  _ apologies, my bad _ \- it’ll help to offset some of your weight.”

Thunderclash’s hand seemed to guide Rodimus to do as he was told, and though Rodimus would never admit it (even if he physically  _ could _ admit it), it did help some. It was getting harder to spread his legs, joint pain notwithstanding. He truly felt smothered by his body. Rodimus didn’t have time to wallow in self hate, though, as the noise of a hatch opening behind him made him jolt.

“What-  _ nnff _ \- ‘re  _ y-ou _ doing!?”

A rag pressed against Rodimus’s behind. He knew that it was inevitable, but he had at least figured that Thunderclash would let him lay down to clean him. That’s how they had done it before, when Rodimus had legitimately had an accident- Primus, that was probably fifty pounds ago. Rodimus groaned.

“I understand that you’re uncomfortable, I do. With your permission, it’ll be much easier to clean you here before we move to the restroom to rinse you off.”

“J-just... _ hff _ …”

Rodimus trailed off. Talking made him dizzy. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him, and Thunderclash seemed to realize that, as he tightened his grip on Rodimus’s side.

“You could give me a nonverbal gesture, or stay silent, and I’ll go ahead and move you to the restroom.”

With all of the force that his flabby arms would allow him to wield, Rodimus slammed a hand onto the desk, causing both it and him to shake. Thunderclash seemed to get the memo, and Rodimus felt his fingers squeeze his side once, before the wiping began.

He was more gentle than he had any right to be, and more thorough, too. Rodimus knew that he was disgusted. He knew that he was disappointed, let down. But, yet, here Thunderclash stood, thoroughly cleaning off the shit and piss from Rodimus’s backside and thighs, occasionally sniffling or doing his best to stifle a gag. If he was anything like the captain that Rodimus had been, Rodimus knew that he wouldn’t be doing this- and that stung almost as much as the disinfectant that Thunderclash sprayed onto Rodimus’s ass.

“ **_OW!!!_ ** ”

Rodimus slammed his fist back down, nearly losing his tenuous grip on the desk. Thunderclash gently shushed him, and Rodimus felt a new, clean rag wipe the disinfectant around, spreading out the spray. It burnt all over, but nowhere hurt as bad as Rodimus’s abused asshole- he hadn’t shut his back panel yet, to allow Thunderclash to clean him back there.

It was another agonizing wait, and the pain made Rodimus tear up once more. Thunderclash either didn’t notice, or pretended not to notice- usually, if he saw someone crying, he would scoop them up in a hug and sing to them, then comfort them with inspiring words about how everything would be alright, and whatever was currently ailing them would all be over with, soon. Maybe they both knew how inappropriate that would be, here, or maybe Rodimus was just projecting. His spark felt strained in his chest as he struggled harder against the urge to not only collapse, but to pass out, and his stomach was beginning to gurgle from stress.

The rag abruptly stopped moving, and Thunderclash was quick to pipe up, “Do you need to go again? Now might be a very good time to move to the restroom.”

Rodimus hit the table with a bit less gusto; Thunderclash set both soiled rags into a disposal bag, and then began to move them. Both of his hands left Rodimus’s sides, but he didn’t allow Rodimus to fall, as he pressed himself (as platonically as possible) up against the obese mech’s backside, then grabbed both of Rodimus’s hands.

“To the right- you can do this, I believe in you.”

_ I’m not running a fragging marathon, I’m trying to make it to the toilet! _ , was what Rodimus wanted to say. What came out was a tired sigh, as he started to shuffle back with Thunderclash, letting himself be turned more than he himself put in the effort to turn. Thunderclash was tall and strong enough that he could mostly just guide Rodimus to the back corner of the room, still holding Rodimus’s hands for balance, and so the trip was much less of a strain on Rodimus than he had expected. It still sucked, but they at least made it without the smaller of the two- er- alright, Rodimus had to laugh at that. The chuckle came out as another exasperated sigh once they crossed through the doorway, and a small smile was on his face as he was guided to the toilet.

He plopped down, then closed his eyes to try and catch his breath.

“I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Thanks.”

For once in his life, Thunderclash left without another word. Rodimus heard him shuffling through garbage in the other room, and then the telltale sound of a mop- again, Rodimus had to chuckle. It was stress more than humor that was making him laugh, but really, it came down to how the sheer absurdity of the situation that was beginning to overwhelm him. Rodimus Prime, former captain of the Lost Light, was sitting on the toilet in his habsuite, having just been cleaned of the shit and piss that covered him by his former one-sided rival that was  _ supposed _ to have died years ago.

It was absurd that he even still cared.

No one became famous for debunking things, especially not for debunking a truth that his entire race had held onto for comfort for their entire history. Rodimus, himself, still believed in the Cybertronian Gods, or...something. There was  _ something _ beyond that first layer of afterlife, and after all, neither he nor anyone else who had been present could explain what they had seen of the legendary Primus, so it was safe to believe that he had at least lived on. He hadn’t gotten famous for rewriting Cybertronian religion, but he sure as shit carried the burden of it like he had.

His best friend- someone that he had wanted to be  _ more _ than best friends with- had been a Spectralist. Still was, actually. No one else might have given half of Rattrap’s ass that Rodimus had disproven millions of years of religion, no one else might have cared about his journey, no one else might have cared about his pitiful descent into obscurity, but every day, whenever Rodimus struggled against the physical prison that he had created for himself, he had to think about how his best friend likely resented him for stealing away that bit of comfort.

Rodimus’s stomach gurgled, and he rubbed it out of reflex. Thunderclash would likely keep himself busy until Rodimus called him back in, and so Rodimus decided, once again, to let go. It was amazing how much he could carry in him at once, even after he had thought that he’d let it all out. He gripped onto the side of the sink to steady himself as he pushed, feeling it burn him as it came out.

“Thunderclash!” Rodimus didn’t move off of the toilet as he reached to his side to flush. “I’m done in here!”

Almost immediately, Rodimus heard the captain pad towards him, the sound of crinkling garbage now distinctly absent. Thunderclash knocked at the wall, and Rodimus groaned, as if saying ‘yes, just fragging come in already’.

“Have you wiped?”

Thunderclash somehow managed to make unflinching eye contact with Rodimus as he asked it, but Rodimus did see one corner of his frowning mouth twitch with discomfort.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

_ Have you wiped? _   What kind of question was that, and right off the bat? Rodimus was reaching a point of frustration where he began to take everything that Thunderclash did as a deliberate attack, meant to deliberately rile up and infuriate him. Rodimus blew air out of his nose, not quite a snort, and looked at the floor. He hadn’t, and Thunderclash knew that.

“Rodimus-”

“Stop saying my name!”

It was now Thunderclash’s turn to sigh.

“I’m concerned for your health, and I know that you’re not ‘fine’. I didn’t want to press you while you were in an uncomfortable situation, but I already have Velocity waiting outside to take you upstairs once you’ve finished up in here. I’m sorry, but that- is an order.”

Rodimus whipped his head up to look at Thunderclash, the corners of his vision blacking out as he did so. He bore his teeth, absolutely furious. Even with the slight pause in Thunderclash’s speech showing that  _ he didn’t want this, either _ , Rodimus was convinced that Thunderclash was just here to fuck him up and fuck him over, humiliating him in front of as many people as possible.

“Sure, help me wash the fragging shit off of my ass first, before you take me out back and  _ frag me! _ ” Rodimus didn’t care how out of breath he felt from screaming, he hadn’t done it in so long that it felt cathartic. “Does she fragging know what happened here?”

“She knows, yes.”

“GREAT! Who else knows? Why don’t you just tell everyone, they probably already know! Everyone knows I’m a slob, everyone knows I’m disgusting, no one wants to be around me because of it!”

Rodimus took a deep inhale, as if to start screaming more, but Thunderclash took a step forward. It was enough to silence Rodimus, in this position, making him feel helpless. His bared-teeth scowl faltered as he watched Thunderclash scowl, himself, though it was a look of tired desperation rather than of anger.

“I have taken great care that  _ no one _ know about this, besides Velocity. The crew is  **_worried about you_ ** , Rodimus! My apologies for saying your name, and so often, but I  _ need you _ to understand how personal this is to us, and to all of us. We are worried about you, we care about you, and we want to see you happy and healthy. The crew is unfamiliar with your physical condition, and I’ve made sure of that.

“All that most of them know is that you’re very, very depressed, and that you’re hurting. No one believes that you’ve done this out of enjoyment. No one. Even you and I know that you would have never done this if you didn’t feel like you had no other option but to drive everyone away.”

Thunderclash moved closer to Rodimus, and in one swift movement, he embraced the larger mech in a hug. Rodimus broke down, hot tears falling down his face. Thunderclash surrounded himself with the best of the best- motivational speakers and world class psychiatrists, award-winning doctors and unparalleled athletes. How Rodimus had ever expected any of them to not see through him, the lone everyman, he wasn’t quite sure.

“Just get me fragging cleaned up. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“You know-”

“I know I have to deal with it soon! Just help me up!”

Rodimus set out his hands for Thunderclash to grab, and together, they heaved Rodimus off of the toilet. It had been so long since Rodimus was able to wipe himself that he didn’t bother to keep rags in his bathroom, instead just getting into the shower to clean himself off. He had no way of knowing if he was really clean, aside from smell and feel- suddenly, it hit Rodimus that  _ that _ might have been part of why people had started to avoid him.

Though the actual process of getting to the shower involved panting and wheezing as he lumbered towards it, Rodimus was at least rested enough to be able to stand unsupported inside of it. Thunderclash turned on the tap for him.

“If I may ask, how exactly do you do this by yourself?”

“Not very well.”

Thunderclash nodded, and Rodimus turned to face the wall. The cool water felt good on his behind, and he actually sighed as Thunderclash sprayed him down. There was no gagging, this time, though it was likely due more to the smell being lesser than it was to Thunderclash becoming used to it.

When Thunderclash turned off the tap, Rodimus was reluctant to step out, even after the automatic air dryer had kicked in. He usually waddled right out of the shower and into his chair, but even if it  _ wasn’t _ currently lying in pieces on the floor, Rodimus knew that that wasn’t an option right now. He sighed, and Thunderclash hugged him once again after he had shelved the showerhead back onto the wall.

“Do you need my assistance to get outside?”

“No, that shower helped me sober up. I’m not usually this helpless,” Rodimus laughed, mostly to himself. He grinned, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes. “I hope I haven’t kept her waiting long.”

“Her assistant has taken over for any scheduled surgeries, today, so there’s no rush. I’ll make sure that we take a secluded route up to the infirmary- whenever you’re ready.”  
  
Rodimus finally stepped out of the shower, and Thunderclash stepped out with him. In another time- in another life- this would have been Ultra Magnus helping him, washing vomit off of his body after a night of partying gone wrong. Maybe it was better this way, but Rodimus wasn’t quite sure. Ultra Magnus had moved onto better and brighter things, reacquainted with Prowl (and, if the rumors were to be believed,  _ ‘reacquainted’ _ had a deeper meaning)- but sometimes, if Rodimus read between the lines, Thunderclash sounded enough like him that Rodimus could pretend he was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have more sexiness, this one is mostly establishing their relationship.

**Author's Note:**

> You can go to my twitter (https://twitter.com/robotpornhell) to find out how to support me!


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